


extra on the side

by cinqingship



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Belly Kink, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Weight Gain, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 05:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11525058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinqingship/pseuds/cinqingship
Summary: from a prompt on the lesmiskinkmeme:"Enjolras can't stand the alcohol. But he certainly doesn't mind the lasting effects it has upon Grantaire's waistline."





	extra on the side

Enjolras doesn’t mean to walk in on Grantaire, it just happens. Courfeyrac had left papers in Grantaire’s room by the café, so Enjolras offered to retrieve them as he had need of them. He found Grantaire shirtless before a small mirror, brow furrowed, expression troubled. Grantaire hadn’t noticed Enjolras’ entrance, and Enjolras, for a few long moments, was distracted from his purpose.

Enjolras knew Grantaire was a drunk, but he’d never thought about what that really meant physically for Grantaire. The other man’s nose was ruddy, of course. His skin was pale and waxen on nights of particularly heavy drinking; Grantaire’s eyes were often red, fingers cold with poor circulation. All these things, Enjolras was aware of, but the soft-looking, pale swell of flesh at Grantaire’s waist had not occurred to him. Of course the alcohol had substance; Enjolras knew the bourgeoisie were as excessive with their wines as they were with meals, but he didn’t expect to see the effects on someone like Grantaire.

Enjolras watched dry-mouthed as Grantaire prodded his belly and thick sides with a sour expression on his face. Enjolras made a strangled sound when Grantaire lifted the extra flesh before letting it fall with a small jiggle.

Grantaire spun around quickly at the sound, a blush darkening his cheeks. “Enjolras!” Grantaire snapped up a shirt and threw on. “What are you doing here?”

Enjolras shook his head to clear it, “Ah, the notes? Courfeyrac left. He said they were here?” Enjolras looked around and spotted them on the windowsill, still rolled up.

“I didn’t mean to barge in, only your door was unlocked…”

Grantaire shook his head at him as he pulled on his waistcoat. “No, no, Apollo, all is well.”

Enjolras collected the papers, half-disappointed in Grantaire redressing, half-wondering why he was so disappointed.

“Is that all?” Grantaire asked as Enjolras remained unmoving.

Enjolras blinked at him, before making to leave as not to embarrass either of them further. “Yes. Thank you. Good day.”

“Good day,” Grantaire replied. He smiled at Enjolras lightly when the other man turned back before exiting.

As Enjolras rushed back to the Musain, his thoughts were not on the plans for a revolution bound together in his hand, but on that expanse of flesh hidden beneath Grantaire’s worn clothing. It would appear the other man’s excess was productive to Enjolras’ interests after all.

 

* * *

 

A problem crops up when Enjolras can’t stop the thoughts about it. The image of those broad shoulders tapering inward slightly at the ribs, only to swell out again to tantalizing inches of flesh; those broad hands caressing, dipping against precious curves that Enjolras’ hands itched to grasp and squeeze. He thought about how soft Grantaire would be beneath his hands, how warm under his touch. He dreamt about thick thighs holding him, rounded belly bearing down on him, soft body covering him, keeping him safe.

If it were only the thoughts and dreams, Enjolras could handle it, push it away. As frustrating as they were, they were bearable.

Until he began to _notice_  things: the way Grantaire’s waistcoat, already tight, grew smaller and started to ride up more often; the way his thighs grew closer together as days and weeks passed since the initial glance; the way his stomach swelled out and creased when he’s seated, begging for attention; the way the long trousers strained at their seams; the way Grantaire’s face filled out a little more. Every new perceptible instance weighed on Enjolras.

And still Grantaire drank past excess.

Enjolras caught himself staring sometimes. More embarrassing, _Grantaire_  would catch him looking; whereas before he would receive a smirk or a jibe, all Enjolras got now was a glance away, a flush, and a look on anyone else he would called shame.

Soon, Enjolras wasn’t the only one who noted the change, but unlike him, the other took up the opportunity to tease. He could tell when a joke was made by the look on Grantaire’s face from across the room: a flash of something Enjolras couldn’t identify, then a cringe of embarrassment when a comment hit its mark.

Enjolras couldn’t stop looking, not until Grantaire began to markedly <i> _bounce_ </i> beneath his clothing, and Enjolras forced himself to keep his gaze away, keep his back turned, lest he did something regrettable.

For some reason, this restraint sent Grantaire into a mix of a frenzy and a depression, while the rest of the group mentioned Grantaire’s fuller figure as often as able, seemingly to drive Enjolras mad.

“Leave some for the rest of us!”

“I’ll take that, you clearly don’t need it.”

“Careful, it’s not the strongest seat.”

Those are just the ones Enjolras overheard, and it is clear they are all meant in good fun. Still, it made Enjolras want to look, and Grantaire withdrew to himself and his bottle, which did nothing to rectify the situation.

Everything came to a head one afternoon when Enjolras, Combeferre, and Grantaire were in the backroom where they moved crates and took inventory. Rather, Enjolras and Combeferre were working, Grantaire was halfway down the third bottle Enjolras saw, only occasionally he assisted with stacking the heavier boxes.

During one round of lifting and grunting, something unfortunate happened: Grantaire’s clothes gave way. The buttons all but fled from his waistcoat and the front seams of his trousers tore open. Belly surged outward, caught bent over as he was, buttons scattered all over the floor, Grantaire stilled and paled drastically.

Enjolras and Combeferre let the silence stretch over the room, and Grantaire stood slowly, carefully gathered his clothing and his wits about him, and looked at everything but them.

“Grantaire,” Combeferre said gently enough, but it snapped Grantaire out of his daze. He flushed heavily and looked like someone had slapped him, he appeared so startled. He glanced to Combeferre, then Enjolras, whose presence only seemed to upset him further, then mumbled some excuse and fled.

Enjolras took a quick step to follow, but caught himself in time. He turned to Combeferre and said, “Hopefully he’ll change quickly and return. We must finish this.”

Combeferre only gave him a sobering look. “I doubt we’ll see him for some time.”

“Why?”

“He’s… Enjolras, you’ve noticed the others treatment of him, I know you have. To them, it’s all in good  fun, but he’s ashamed. Especially because you’ve seen it, and because of what caused it. Now… now his shame has given irrefutable evidence of his gain, while he was helping the cause, <i> _in front of you_ </i>, Enjolras.”

“What have I got to do with it?”

Combeferre shook his head and knelt down to collect a button. He held it up and said, “How often have you expounded on the horror of excess and its effects? And now, Grantaire is just another example of what you hate.”

“He’s not!” Enjolras surprised himself and Combeferre with a shout. More quietly, he repeated, “He is not. I don’t hate him.”

Combeferre handed Enjolras the button, Combeferre stood. “You might tell him that.”

 

* * *

 

When Enjolras had gathered every lost button- and thoroughly revealed he knew exactly how many buttons there were, if not why- he made his way to Grantaire’s residence. Once again, the door wasn’t latched, but instead of finding a delightful repeat of the previous visit, Enjolras found a scene that ached his heart, not quicken its pace.

The traitorous waistcoat laid crumpled against the far wall, no doubt thrown, and the destroyed trousers spread out in pieces towards the foot of the mattress; Grantaire lay curled up on the bed, the man as sad and rumpled as the clothing; his shoulders shook with misery, though he made no sound, and no doubt he noticed his visitor.

Enjolras approached lightly, sitting on the edge of the bed at Grantaire’s back. He leaned over him, opening Grantaire’s fist with his the backs of his fingers and dropping the buttons into his cool palm.

“I thought you might be able to have it repaired,” Enjolras explained quietly, his hand resting over Grantaire’s wrist. “Are you alright?”

Grantaire snorted, burrowing deeper into his pillow. Enjolras tucked a curl behind Grantaire’s ear, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Just embarrassed.”

“No need.”

“No?”

“It was but Combeferre and I. We won’t tease you, you know that.” Enjolras rubbed the other man’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

“You’ll have me around still?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

Grantaire huffed and Enjolras frowned, but waited for his answer. “Why _would_  you?”

“Because you are my friend. Because despite your vices, you often make good arguments that I must think around. Because I care for you. What reason would you like to hear?”

Grantaire sat up then, face incredulous and pale but eyes hopeful, red and watery. “You mean that?”

“I do. I greatly value you, Grantaire.”

His face crumpled for a moment, a hand coming to smother the sob escaping his mouth. Enjolras drew him into his arms and held him there.

“I thought you hated me.”

“No. Never.”

“Truly?”

“I never hated you. Not for a moment. Not for a breath.”

And that seemed to sink in for Grantaire at last, as he folded completely into Enjolras, clinging to his shoulders with a fervour Enjolras has only seen him hold onto bottles with. Enjolras laid beside him, dragging them together on the mattress, arm secured around Grantaire’s broad waist, his other hand stroking up and down his back to calm him, and Grantaire wept into his neck, smelling of wine and salt and the release of worry.

Grantaire fell asleep against him, having exhausted himself, and though it was early in the afternoon, and though he had many things to get done, Enjolras stayed and watched over him, studying the rise and fall of his ribs, admiring the feel of his belly and thighs against him.

He woke after the sun had set, the room dark with no candles lit, and Enjolras had been unwilling to move and wake him. Enjolras ran fingers through his curls as Grantaire blinked awake.

“Mm,” Grantaire breathed against his neck. “I thought you were a dream.”

“No, not a dream,” Enjolras whispered back, wrapping Grantaire’s hair around his finger and tugging lightly. “Is that alright?”

“Yes. I’m just surprised you’re still here,” Grantaire told him quietly, and if Enjolras weren’t so close to him, he wouldn’t have been able to tell he was blushing. “I didn’t expect...”

“It’s good to be unpredictable, I think,” Enjolras smiles in the dark, leaning into the other man’s warmth.

“You are the least predictable man I’ve ever met,” Grantaire grinned back. “When I’ve thought I’ve figured you out... you do something like this...”

“Something like this?”

“Why did you stay?”

“I wanted be positive you were going to be alright.”

“And now that you’re positive?”

“Would you like me to go?”

“No! No, I would have you stay as long as I may keep you...” Grantaire blushed, and Enjolras lay so close he could feel the heat of it against his cheek. It made him smile and move further into Grantaire’s space.

“Good, I would have you keep me as long as you wish.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“I do.”

Grantaire only stared at him in the dark, and Enjolras wondered why Grantaire was so shocked by this.

“That I would stay surprises you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I thought you hated me, and even with that not being true, you’ve never shown anything but disdain for me before.”

“Surely not?”

"It’s true. Or so I thought.”

“Maybe I pitied you, Grantaire, and misunderstood you, but if I have hurt you, I sincerely apologize. I am not the best with interaction or understanding emotions, so says Combeferre, and he is right because I often misunderstand my own.”

“What do you mean?”

“I... You frustrate me so much at times, but it was a while before I really knew why.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I see so much worth in you, when you see none. You know I don’t like it when my views are challenged.”

“I don’t know why you see anything of me.”

“I don’t know why you don’t.”

“I suppose we must agree to disagree on this matter.”

“I suppose so.”

“I have a question for you, however. Why... if you don’t mind my presence and don’t despise me, why do you look away from me so often? I- All I’ve wanted is for you to not look away from me... Do I make you uncomfortable? The jokes the others would tease me with, they would remind you of my weakness, wouldn’t they?”

“No. I would look away because I feared I would do something we would both regret if I did not.”

“Something regretful? What could you do that you would regret, Enjolras? You’re not one for fly-away actions.”

“No, I’m not. And I have thought on it, even while you were sleeping. I have noticed you looking at me, Grantaire, and how you have looked at me.”

“Should I apologize?”

“No. I would have you stay looking at me.”

“Why?”

“I wish to look back.”

Enjolras kissed him, closed mouthed, but hardly chaste. His hands gripping Grantaire’s nape, he lay flush against the other man’s body, and Grantaire’s arm came up along his waist.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't really want to bother tracking down the link on the dreamwidth version of the meme, so no link back, sorry.
> 
> Unbeta'd and a few years old by this point, but posting to find the motivation to come back to it hopefully. I have a few new fics to post after I get through the backlog from the kink meme, so we'll see.
> 
> Always taking prompts at Tumblr: cinqsanksunk.


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